Inaudax
by numina
Summary: Coulrophobia. The blonde frowned and stared at him, confused. Um? Roxas? This the first time you've been to McDonald's, or something? Shounenai, Akuroku, implied HaynerxSeifer, crackfic
1. Panophobia

**A/N: **For the 13fears community on LJ (as if they're really going to read this). Summary and pairing will **change** in every chapter, in accordance to the theme. **Warning: **The pairings are random. Some have no pairings at all. **Random**, I say, so expect shounen-ai and het somewhere there.

**Note: **SBW readers, the next chapter REFUSES to be written. This is like...um, writer's block dump. If you guys have any other ideas to cure this dreaded disease, I beg you, PLEASE, help.

**Summary: **Kairi steps inside the room and Sora screams. RiSoKai, implied SoKai.

**Warning2: **Extreme angst. Your eyes might bleed. Also, language. If you have your filter on, you'll have those asterisks dance across your page quite a lot.

**Panophobia**

_Death in itself is nothing; but we fear_

_To be we know not what, we know not where._

Aurengzebe. Act iv. Sc. 1.

"Riku," Kairi scolds lightheartedly, auburn eyebrow traveling upwards in slight amusement. "We want to give him flowers, not a severe allergic reaction."

He gives a start as he realizes that he is practically picking Radiant Garden's flower field clean, and that yes, the normally-placid gardener by the name of Aerith Gainsborough will _kill_ him. No, stare him down until he breaks down and weeps, castrate him with garden scissors, _then_ kill him with a pair of trowels.

Directing a sheepish grin at Kairi, he carefully shifts the assortment of blossoms held cradled in his arms: chrysantemums, dahlians, a few stems of bright yellow crocus here and there, a delicate handful of baby's breath here, and the occasional white rose a blank spot against a canvas of brilliant color.

He reaches down for another stem, but a small hand intervenes and stops his fingers, intertwining in a firm but gentle grip.

"Riku," Kairi repeats, looking up at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

"What?" He replies absentmindedly, tugging his hand from hers. "It's not like Aerith would miss another--"

She giggles quietly, more of a tinkling of glass against shattered glass, light and bittersweet. "You're trying to pick sunflowers."

Riku blinks, and right there, a lone sunflower stares back at him innocently, nodding its head in the passing breeze. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

Sora was --is-- allergic to sunflowers, he remembers, with something akin to nostalgia but not quite. Those large, bobbing flowers with thin sunkissed petals spell certain death for the brunet Keyblade Master -- anaphylactic shock, technically, but Sora likes to term it 'a very lousy way to go, sneezing myself to my death', punctuated by a ringing laugh and a grin enough to power Christmastown all year.

It is a fortunate thing that Kairi has reminded him.

Riku would look back later and say otherwise. They all would and will.

He and Kairi silently tread the cobblestone path leading up to the castle itself, each caught up in his and her own reflections of what had happened years, long years past.

The auburn-haired Princess clasps a wicker basket of small, golden fruit, smooth fuzz trailing upwards into tiny crowns of bright green at the tips of starlike imitation. Riku stares at her sideways as they ascend the stairs and pretends not to see the sadness and regret (regret, oh regret, we cannot forget that) shining in the Princess' eyes.

It's a ritual they go through every second Sunday of the month, when life on the Islands slowed down into a leisurely pace, when if they wished all they could do was sit in the pristine sands and while the sunset away. King Mickey sends them another bottle filled with another roll of parchment, saying that this one Sunday, he'll come and visit with them.

Riku sometimes thinks, no, he knows the King would give everything to be anywhere else, but his is the King and he has to at least check up on his court sometime.

Yuffie greets them with a smile, waiting at the top of the stairs and waving hands giddily, as if she doesn't remember doing the same countless times before. Well, she doesn't.

They round the corner and Kairi stifles what might have been a sigh, hesitating slightly before a radiant smile blooms on her lips. In that white, sunlit corridor, the committee is waiting, scattered across the white tiles like chess pieces waiting to be moved.

Aerith looks up from where she is sitting and only offers a confused expression, before going back to crooning to the stems of white lilies twirling in her hand. The world to her is a flower, and her flowers are the world.

Yuffie dances over to her and starts singing jauntily, completely forgetting that he and Kairi had just arrived. Trauma has stolen her long-term memory and she no longer recalls anything that had happened more then five minutes earlier.

Leon broods over in the far corner, sparing them one fleeting look before metaphorically shifting out of reality and locking himself up in the shell he had been so famous for.

A black wing quivers over at the balcony, and Cloud looks back over to them, hastily rearranging his sleeve and miserably failing to hide the small red ribbon clenched in pale hands. Riku catches the imploring sweep of sapphire over the brunette whispering to her flowers on the other side.

Riku's staring at a perfectly restored vignette filled with perfectly broken people; sanity and emotion taken in exchange for eternal peace. The price they had to pay to win the Heartless war had not been a light one.

A door opens along the corridor, and Tifa cocks her head to the side, knowing full well what happens next. She motions to them with one black-gloved hand, beckoning forward with a patient, pitying smile. She knows how it feels to live in perpetual reminder of the sins on her hands and the buckets of Heartless-blood leaving no trace but are still there -- the scent of death still leaving its heady perfume on her cream skin.

She knows how it feels to lose her companions and still have them in a very different way; only she and Cid still see the world through clear eyes. Merlin's spells had done her and the temperamental mechanic well; they now stand as temporary guardians of a Garden that has only been radiant the first time and never will be so again. Rebuilt white walls and restored cobblestone can only hide so much.

Riku walks cautiously forward, tugging on Kairi, and as they pass the ebony-haired ninja she laughs giddily and exclaims how nice it is to see them, have you only arrived just now, and don't they ever surprise her like that again.

"Hi," Tifa greets them, drawing black hair over black clothes and regarding them with black eyes clouded over by something Riku doesn't even want to know. "King Mickey stopped by earlier. He's left me with this and asked me to give it over to you two."

Her other fisted hand opens and the Kingdom Keychain stares up at them, three linked circles mocking their memories.

He fights that _something_ that has clogged his throat and takes it, knowing all the blood that has stained it like the back of his hand. Kairi shifts on her feet and turns away, pushing past them and walking towards the door at the very end of the corridor.

Riku forces his words, and cringes when he finds out he really means it. "Thanks, Tifa."

The fighter smiles in reply and wordlessly goes to gather her charges, hauling Aerith up rather ungracefully to her feet and bribing Yuffie with a promise of sugar and ice cream back in the Bailey. He follows Kairi and Cloud brushes past him, as so does Leon, a distinct air of coldness and just plain resignation in their wake.

"Stop by later!" Tifa calls over one shoulder, and is drowned out by Yuffie's confused exclamation of 'Riku? Kairi? What're they doing here?'. Riku waves back and moves on.

Kairi is already at the plain white door, hand on handle and basket slung over an arm.

"After you," Riku smiles mirthlessly, looking down at that one white rose -- blank, pure, innocent.

The girl opens the door (ha! opened the door! there was a time long, long ago that it would have meant the world to him and every Keyblade Master out there) and they both see, remember to see, sear into their mind's eye their best friend. What had remained of their best friend.

The room is streaming with afternoon sun, but there in the corner a small figure huddles in the shadows. (Tifa says he once woke up screaming, that one morning when she had drawn back the curtains one minute earlier than scheduled -- '_no no not the light get the light away from me it'll kill me again please the light no_ no no--')

Cerulean eyes regard them with a ferocity born out of fear and he trembles like a leaf in a spectacularly-cast Aeroga. He curls up on himself even further and starts whimpering pathetically.

Kairi steps inside the room and Sora screams.

Riku follows her and the brunet's hands start scrabbling in his corner, anything to get away, _away_, _away_--

The door closes like the soft slice of a guilliotine's blade against the chopping block and the fallen Keyblade Master stands up and presses himself against the wall, eyes wide and luminous in the cool afternoon shadow.

"We brought flowers," Riku says softly, and Sora squeaks. Skittering hands wander over the wall like desperate spiders, and when fingers brush accidentally against white curtains he squeaks loudly once again and backs away into the corner, eyes regarding the fluttering cloth with the same fear he regards Riku and Kairi with.

Kairi takes another step and Sora opens his mouth in another scream.

The flowers are set on the table and Riku ignores the cries and whimpers; the basket follows soon and there it looks like it's trying hard to look harmless. At least, that's what it looks like to him. Damnit. Baskets don't usually attack people, neither do paopu fruits, neither do dahlias and crocuses and roses.

But to Sora, all creation is out to kill him, take revenge, make him pay blood lost in his own blood. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, heart for a heart--

Because the war had broken the realm of light's savior, and there is no glue in the universe that can put the shattered pieces back. Sora is past the point of paranoia and well into the clutches of an irrational fear of every single goddamned _thing_ that's around him.

Riku wants to paint the innocently-dancing sunlight a shade of something _nicer_ with his colorful vocabulary, but for Kairi's sake he holds his tongue and watches as she tries, once more; she wields the glue of memories and unshakeable bonds, the metaphorical scotch tape of dedication and love. Hell, you can even call it the stapler of light's truth and some equally highfalutin shit. Same difference.

But he would like to point out his earlier statement and therefore conclude that there's nothing they can do; they had been trying for the past ten years and it's very unlikely that today would be different.

He remains silent.

This is not Sora. This is not how he'd actually like to remember his best friend, thank you very much. He'd like at least retain a spot of cheerful in his bloodstained memory lane, a bright, mundane ice-cream shop in the middle of the graves and broken crimson Keyblades.

Sora's screaming again.

There's that hopeless, failed look on Kairi's face, and she makes to reach out with a hand. But the boy yells and starts crying like he's being subjected to pure torture, and the hand falls to her side. She turns around and doesn't look back. She doesn't need to.

"Let's go," she says curtly in a voice entirely too unnatural for a twenty-five year old (because that voice belonged to war veterans who had seen death too many times -- oh wait; Kairi _had_), high in pitch and completely devoid of emotion.

He nods, and they sweep out of the door, closing it behind them and starting the short, rather scenic walk to the Bailey and a popsicle or two of sea-salt ice cream. Probably a new gummi model, hopefully non-tonberry (or any other creature) by Cid. Some barley tea by Aerith -- he'd just have to remember to check for fertilizer the next time (because organic fertilizer is easily mistaken for undissolved brown sugar in appearance but not in taste).

They take small, measured steps down the corridor, and for a minute Riku pretends it's the long, long stretch of beach back in Destiny Islands, where nobody remembers and nobody cares for the destruction and salvation of their universe a decade ago. Where things are mundanely routine and flowers don't kill, where shadows are just shadows and not Heartless waiting in ambush.

He just wishes that Sora's screams doesn't ring in his ears so much.

**Owari**

Next theme is Coulrophobia, with my cracktastic presentation of **Akuroku**. Yes. Shounen-ai.


	2. Coulrophobia

**A/N: **For the 13fears community on LJ (as if they're really going to read this). Summary and pairing will **change** in every chapter, in accordance to the theme. **Warning: **The pairings are random. Some have no pairings at all. **Random**, I say, so expect shounen-ai and het somewhere there.

**Notes: **Fanfic dump! NEED TO WORK WRITER'S BLOCK OFF. OFF, I SAY. This is **shounen-ai**. Don't like, there's the back button for your clicking pleasure. Also, a bit cracky. BECAUSE I HATE CLOWNS WITH A BURNING PASSION. Rated T for language and innuendo.

**Disclaimer: **No. Stop bothering me.

**Coulrophobia**

_Writers are a little below clowns and a little above trained seals._

_-John Steinbeck_

To say Roxas was afraid of anything would merit you a punch in the face at best, and a punch somewere down _there_ at worst. For Roxas was considered the _badass_ one of the Usual Spot kids -- he skated like nobody else could, answered to no one (except to his twin, fraternal bonds and all that jazz), and was typically labeled as the One Kid Who Schemed And Always Wins.

To say that he was actually gaping right now and that a small jolt of electricity was now currently jumping manically on that one red button labeled 'Primal Terror' on his spine was nothing short of unforgiveable.

Roxas mentally kicked himself and that cute little voice that had been narrating. "Hayner," he breathed, still quite frozen in shock, "What the _hell_?"

The blonde frowned and stared at him, confused. "Um? Roxas? This the first time you've been to McDonald's, or something?"

He shuffled awkwardly on his feet, readjusted the skateboard under his arm, and preened for quite a while before the expression on Hayner's face twisted into nothing short of murderous impatience. _It's just a place that's so happy with all those plastic smiles and that plastic life-sized mascot creeps me out. _"No."

Hayner made a small 'hmph'-ing sound and started fishing the numerous pockets of his cargo pants for some munny, muttering something about 'not getting out enough' and 'damn_it_, where the hell did that 20-munny note go?' and the occasional 'I thought I told him not to touch anything'.

However, Roxas was much too preoccupied with shielding his eyes and not looking like he was doing so in the process, for as the line moved the plastic likeness of Ronald McDonald loomed larger, all red paint and white powder and baggy mustard-yellow jumpsuit.

He was _not_ getting squicked by how it was grinning, like one of those psychotic mass murderers in the movies. Rows of perfect teeth and crinkled eyes lined with eyeliner and heavy makeup. Nope. Not squicked.

He made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like 'eeep' when Hayner suggested they moved over to the next cashier, since they found out that the guy in front of them was ordering enough food to feed a small country. Sure, the old lady at that counter looked particularly peaceful, but Ronald was so much more closer, smiling, grinning that secret, horrifying grin of his.

He had _got_ to stop watching horror movies. More importantly, he had got to stop letting Sora make him watch said horror movies. But since when had he last seen a movie with Sora, anyway? He had learnt his lesson just a week ago that one should never go to a movie with his twin and that silver-haired pervert (Riku, and he mentally castrated said pervert), since they had _their_ own script, and it was one that was far too explicit for his own tastes, thank you.

But anyway.

Ronald was still grinning.

Roxas angrily shot the figure a scowl. Damnit.

_not squicked._

_not squicked._

_not squicked._

"Good morning, welcome to McDonald's, and do you have a strange fetish for plastic figures?" a voice drawled sarcastically, and it was an understatement to say that Roxas was, understandably, Really. Pissed. Off. He did not need to be reminded that no matter how hard he denied it, he was, in fact, very much afraid of clowns.

He scowled and shifted the expression on his face into a Look, and a Look that made sure that the skies above swirled into a raging storm, the asphalt outside cracked, and he unleashed his fury upon the earth...of course, if he had his way. But anyway. He gave the speaker a Look.

And froze.

And squeaked.

Holy...

The first thing he noticed, really, was how the guy actually fitted into McDonald's theme perfectly. It was as if the bright, cheery, yellow and red combination of pure, cheesy, served-on-a-bun happiness was made for him. Crimson hair stuck out of his visor like a bunch of overgrown grass drowned in red paint.

Then the copious amount of eyeliner smothered around eyes that, simply put, was impossibly _green_. Like, straight out of the pixels in games and pure teal poured into two irises. Now, Roxas was simply not the sappy type, nor the one who likes to wax poetic (that would be Naminé), but _damn_, that guy had eyes that were breathtaking. Literally.

And then his stare traveled down past the Amazing Eyes, and settled upon those little triangular smudges of--

Roxas bit his lip in order to spare the businessman behind him a taste of his very (darkly) colorful language. Were those tattoos?

And then he took a step back to observe this discovery of a new species, he noticed -- as the blood rushed from his face and that small jolt of electricity was once more jumping on his button -- that this guy was death-pale white, porcelain framed by bloody red, twin teardrops etched below jade eyes, and that goddamn pink-lipped predatory _smirk_ that looked so much like one of those psychotic clowns just before they massacred somebody--

"Hmmmm?" Clown Guy leant forward, eyes shuttering halfway and voice lowering into a pitch that would surely have made his toes curl, if his heart wasn't beating something like a million miles per second, "See something you like?"

_Or something terrifying. _He squeaked quite embarrassingly and quickly followed Hayner deep into the mass of McDonald's patrons, leaving a very irritated Clown-Guy-cashier-_whatever­_ behind.

---

"Naminé's going to kill you."

Hayner emphasized the statement with small, stabbing motions, something that one might do with a pencil. A very sharp pencil.

Roxas shivered. "I can get her a sundae somewhere else. Or a sea-salt popsicle."

The blonde boy beside him shrugged noncommitantly, sifting through the plastic Mcdonald's bag, taking out the fries, and dumping them unceremoniously onto the tray. "She's _sick_ of sea-salt, Rox. I mean, everyone would be, after eating one of those every day for what...a month? Except you, of course."

Roxas absentmindedly nodded in agreement. So what if he was something of a popsicle addict? Naminé could learn to like those things the same way he did.

He cringed. But then again, his cousin _did_ explicitly tell him that she wanted a chocolate sundae, not another one of, he quotes, for sea-salt popsicles were a sacred thing, "those crazy blue squares of indescribable flavor". And she did promise him a slow, painful death if he failed to get her one.

But hey. The cashier looked like a serial killer (at least, to him), for crying out loud. He'd like to choose his safety over a sundae, no matter what threats Naminé made.

"You're pouting again," Hayner laughed from across the table, sticking another fry into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "Dude. That's so _a-do-ra-ble_."

Roxas scowled at Hayner, who was now doubled over in laughter, after having teased him in that tone of voice he had normally reserved for rabid girls just going through puberty. He resisted throwing the table number at him and grabbed a handful of fries instead.

He choked on his fifth one and it ended up going straight down his throat. Crap. Clown Guy at twelve o'clock, and apparently moving towards them.

Hayner followed his gaze and sat straight up. "Finally. Rest of the food's here."

Roxas stared in horror as his companion jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of Clown Guy; as tempting as it was to hope that Hayner was pointing to something else, the fact that the only other plausible directions were at that kid bawling on one table and the group of violently giggling girls killed the notion.

Doomed.

Clown Guy's face brightened, whether at the number displayed prominently on the table, or at the sight of him, Roxas didn't bother to know. Doomed, I say, _doomed_. He clutched his skateboard tighter and wondered if it was illegal to make a getaway on a skateboard inside a fastfood joint.

"Here ya go," the Guy had removed his visor some time ago and probably left it somewhere behind the counter. Roxas noted that he now had the general appearance of somebody who had a small, electrified furry animal crawl onto his skull and die of suffocation by dried red paint. The bag of food changed hands. Roxas imagined it was a butcher's knife.

Why couldn't he have the imagination of his twin, anyway? Sora almost always painted everything in a portrait of sunshine and laughter. Roxas liked to see the world through muted blues and steel-grey.

Great. Now, in the aftermath of his deep reflection of what color he'd like the world to be, they were now staring at him.

"What's wrong with him?" Clown Guy asked, reaching over and picking up one of the fries.

Hayner had the grace to look scandalized, but it passed in a second as he reached for a handful of his own. He chewed again in a very thoughtful way, regarding Roxas with a gaze one would associate with a difficult problem in chemistry. Brown eyes cleared in realization as Hayner 'aaahhhed', noticing how Roxas was currently fidgeting and avoiding any kind of eye contact with Clown Guy. Curse Hayner to be so perceptive.

Hayner looked sideways. Clown Guy had invited and seated himself at their table, sneaking in a fry or two.

"Roxas' afraid of clowns."

Roxas spluttered and hoped karma would take vengeance. Traitorous Hayner. "I'm not," he had started to protest, but a nagging feeling pushed the urge back. "Wait, how'd you know?"

"Did you realize you've just contradicted what you said?" Clown Guy cut in, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up," he shot back, proud that he didn't stutter, and resumed interrogating a highly amused Hayner. "Who told you?"

Hayner started whistling. Roxas wanted to wrench the chair from its bolts on the floor and hit the blond on the head.

"And what does that have to do with me?" Clown Guy interrupted again, and Roxas shot him a Look. Geez. Can't he take a hint? He focused his attention back to his original companion, who was still whistling with a fry sticking out of his mouth. Talented one, Hayner was.

A realization hit Roxas with the force of a brick wall. He snickered. "Seifer'll never have children when I'm finished with him."

Hayner shrugged, but Roxas caught that fractional flinch. "As if he'd want kids, anyway. Who cares?"

He leered. "You would."

A bunch of paper napkins hit him full in the face, and he brushed them off in time to see Hayner blush furiously and Clown Guy snort in badly-supressed laughter.

Wait. Clown Guy.

"You." He growled viciously, "What the hell are you still doing here?"

Clown Guy waved a fry dismissively. "Serving the customer," he said airily, and -- wait, what the -- was that a _foot_ brushing his knee and climbing higher? -- "In more ways that one."

While Roxas did consider himself afraid of clowns, he certainly was not afraid of perverted, make-up wearing molesters (Molesters of any kind, actually, especially silver-haired ones who liked to feel up his twin any chance they could). "Quit it," he hissed across the table.

Hayner twisted around in his seat and leant farther back, squinting and trying to peek under the table. "Dude. I thought you were a cashier."

"Shift change."

Damnit, if that socked foot moved any higher--

Roxas let out another embarrassing 'eeep' and felt crimson creep across the bridge of his nose, and the skateboard sailed over the table and hit Clown Guy head-on.

He stood up and managed to kick the Guy's shins at the same time, breathing rather hard. "Perverted son of a--"

The fry waved back and forth again. "Ah-ah-ah. I'd prefer your term of endearment be Axel. Got it memorized?" The fry tapped against Clown Guy's -- erm, Axel's -- temple.

Hayner suddenly burst into laughter, and they both stared at the blonde. Roxas wondered if it was humanly possible to be so random. "What?"

"That's a real shitty way of introducing yourself, Axel," he spluttered snarkily, wiping at the tears at the edge of his eyes. "Way to go. Introduction with fries and footsies. If you really wanted to catch Rox's attention you could've just, I don't know, used any other way."

Roxas blinked and sat down, trying to process what coherent speech he had understood between Hayner's snorts of laughter.

Clown Guy -- Axel, whatever -- popped the fry into his mouth and shrugged; apparently, nothing could faze him short of a nuclear explosion. "Thought it would work."

Pfft. "Back to the counter with you, pervert."

Axel shifted those Amazing Eyes in his direction, and for five seconds, Roxas forgot to breathe. At least, until, those toes started working their way up his right leg again. "Aw, Roxas," he purred, "Don't you like my company?"

Roxas was tempted once more to hit him on the head with his skateboard, and decided that he wasn't worth the effort. (Yes. That was it. Not the fact that the sensation was starting to feel tingly.) "Company my ass."

Hayner threw his head back harder in laughter, and Roxas' eyes widened as he realized the double entendre. Too late. Axel leant forward and before he knew it, teal-swirled eyes were hovering before his own and his breath was ghosting over Roxas' lips. "Why, I didn't know you'd be so forward, but I accept your offer with pleasure."

He shivered again, but for an entirely different reason. "Damnit. I'm not some hormonal fifteen-year-old kid who's going to--_mmmph!_"

The last coherent thought he had was that although Axel looked very much like a clown, being afraid of this one was a very laughable thing.

---

"They fired you?"

Shrug. "Something about public displays of attention at the workplace." A snort. "Some workplace it was."

"That's good. Because I'm never stepping foot in another McDonald's again."

Cue exasperated voice. "You're _still_ scared of clowns?"

"Shut up."

**Owari**

Next theme is **Xenophobia** (fear of strangers), featuring...I don't know. Requests for pairings are open. Please help a writer work off writer's block. Please, please, please. I accept shounen-ai and het, no yaoi. I CANNOT WRITE SMUT TO SAVE MY LIFE.

SBW readers, I said it once, I'm going to say it again. Writer's block and real life. Help, anyone?


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